


Oh no, it's a wake up call (when your life went into shock)

by grxyish



Series: You set me free when no one else would listen [1]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, Eating Disorders, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-09-06 21:42:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20298382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grxyish/pseuds/grxyish
Summary: It was as if another person took control of his body during the days, and at night it was just him, Charles, the broken, sad version of the golden boy everyone wanted him to be. At least the other version of himself was trying it’s hardest to not be a fuck-up, the real him knew that there was no point.





	Oh no, it's a wake up call (when your life went into shock)

**Author's Note:**

> There's quite some self-hate and self-doubt in this, as well as a non-specified eating disorder. So if any of that is not your cup of tea I'd advice against reading this. 
> 
> Oh, and I tend to overuse commas.
> 
> As this is not anonymous anymore please feel free to reach out to me if you wanna yell about F1!

It was never really meant to go this far. It had even started as an accident. A hectic day of filming, driving and then going straight to the airport to fly out to some far off destination had left Charles with no time to eat. He did not think about until much later when his stomach had already left the hungry stage and entered the painful stage. He had found he liked it. The pain it brought distracted him from the dark thoughts and disappointed looks whenever he did not win a race. The hunger pains washing out the constant nagging of _you don’t deserve to be here, you are only here because they pity you. You will never be like _**_him._**

So he kept going. 

The whole thing had been way too easy if he was being honest, making sure that the team and everyone else around had no clue of what was going on inside of his head. He knew acting happy was what had gotten him this far. He smiled in interviews, kept his conversations light and polite and he never, ever gave anyone a clue of what was going on inside of his head. He was 22 and people assumed he would take care of himself and his body.

Charles had not accounted for the dizzy spells and the blackouts though. At some point during the race he had passed out in the car, just for a second, but it was enough for him to come crashing straight into the wall. He had brushed it off as just a simple mistake to the team over the radio, not moving his hands quickly enough to take the corner as intended. His racing heart, cold sweat and panicked shaking would suggest otherwise, but thankfully there was only the person driving the safety car who had witnessed it. Once they had gotten to the check-up zone, he had calmed himself down enough to smile and conversate with the on-call doctor at the track.

Now, he was alone. The turbulence of the day slowly seeping out of his body along with the smiles and soft-spoken words that left his mouth. It was as if another person took control of his body during the days, and at night it was just him, Charles, the broken, sad version of the golden boy everyone _wanted_ him to be. At least the other version of himself was trying it’s hardest to not be a fuck-up, the real him knew that there was no point. 

His injuries, a broken wrist and a small concussion, were all he had gained from the race, no championship points (and certainly not the approval of the fans or his team [or _him]_). The doctor had told to rest and not get back into the car for at least two weeks, but Charles knew that it was possible to drive anyway. Knew that he _would_ drive anyway because not getting back into that car would make him into even more of a failure. It would take some pleading with the team, but he knew that they would rather have him in the car than out of it.

He was staring at the ceiling, having not moved since he had collapsed into bed an hour earlier. The sound of his phone going off every now and again the only thing keeping him company. He was ignoring the urge to check the notification, where he surely would find pity (from Seb or possibly _him_) and if he adventured onto social media, there would be hate too. Hence, his choosing to just ignore the constant beeping. 

Suddenly, someone was knocking on his door instead, bringing him out of his self wallowing state. Of course, someone from the team would come to check up on him, he _had_ been driven from the track directly to the hospital and then to the hotel. There had been no time to check in with anyone. It was late though and it surprised him that they would care enough about him to check up on him at this time. 

“Charles? It’s...me. Can I come in?” the voice was hesitant and, _oh. _That voice did not belong to anyone on his team, in fact, it belonged to someone who would get into a lot of trouble if he was caught outside Charles hotel room in the middle of the night. It was _him_. 

Charles quickly got out of bed, his vision swimming with the sudden rush of blood but he could not find it in himself to care. His vision blacked out in the exact moment he swung the door open, and luckily there were strong arms there to catch his elbows as he swayed dangerously. 

“Hey, steady..” the voice soothing to Charles's ears as his visitor manoeuvred them into the room while his vision slowly came back. When he blinked back the last of the black-ish lumps on his retinas, he came eye to eye with his biggest rival, his secret life-long crush and biggest frenemy all at once. 

“Max” he mumbled, the name both a statement and a greeting. He was not collected enough to figure out something more coherent to say. Max stared at him, as if he, too, had forgotten how to speak. Both of them scaling the other, trying to figure out what the hell to say. Charles was not even sure of why Max was there. It was not the first time one of them had showed up at the other’s door after a race, pumped up with adrenaline and the need to share it with someone. 

But this was different, there was no fire in Max's eyes, no lust-filled gaze or drunken slurs.

They were nothing, had never spoken about the implication of their actions towards one another, yet they kept coming back. Magnets pulling towards each other over and over again until eventually, they clashed. It was unspoken, the way the teams would forbid their nightly contact, would downright forbid them to speak if they knew. No one knew, at least not as far as Charles was concerned. Not that there was anything to _know _about. 

Max suddenly moved, his hands suddenly moving away from Charles’s elbows and to his waist, arms pulling him in close enough that Charles could smell his cinnamon body wash, his face rubbing against the soft fabric of Max’s hoodie.

“You fucking scared me, asshole” and there it was, the way Max could not help but call him names, even as he expressed his concern. It was familiar and so soothing that he could not help the small smile on his lips, thankful that his face was hidden against the fabric on the other man’s shoulder. 

“I’m fine”, the lies always tasted more bitter when they were told in Max’s presence. He wanted to hate him, wanted to feel the rivalry they were supposed to share, and while it surely was there, there was so much more too. The comfort he felt just by being near the other was scary and so, so wrong. Telling Max lies left a bitter aftertaste and made his stomach ache with anxiety-ridden worry. 

There was no way he could tell Max the truth though. They were not a thing and telling your rival your biggest secret was a mistake. He had never intended for this _thing _with food to go this far. It was supposed to be a temporary fix until he found something else to dull the pain and now he stood there, ribs poking him whenever he bent over and fingernails turning blue because his body did not get enough nutrition to keep them healthy.

“Don’t lie, you don’t have to” his _with me_ goes unspoken and Charles wished he could stop the lies. But the risk was too great, what would he do if Max found out? What would _Max _do if Max found out? Would this thing stop? At this point, the little comfort he got from having the other man around was what got him through the days. The loneliness would have swallowed him wholly a long time ago, were it not for Max fucking Verstappen. 

One of Max’s hands wrapped around his injured wrist, fingers dancing over the rough end of the gauze. Charles had managed to convince the doctor to give him a brace instead of a real cast as he could not miss 6 weeks of training due to his arm being locked up in one position. He was thankful for the brace as Max brushed their fingers together, hooking them together carefully. 

“I can’t stop” he admitted, as warm eyes stared into his, the expression on Max’s face open and friendly. So unlike his racing persona where he was the cocky, arrogant one. 

“I’m…” he stopped himself, not even sure of what he wanted to say, having to carefully work out the sentence in his head before big, scary words left his lips instead. - _I need you, please don’t leave me. _

Everything he could come up with was either not enough or way too much. They were not the kind of people who talked to each other, they rather showed their thoughts and feelings through actions, through touches and whispered praises. Saying things out loud, especially things that would drastically change everything was not what they did. 

“I blacked out” he admitted, the part of him who wanted help, the part that knew that he had gone too far, winning the battle in his mind. God forbid if it made Max never talk to him again. Maybe he could go to Seb? The older Ferrari driver having taken him under his wing ever since Charles had joined the team. 

“Why?” Max asked, his gaze never faltering, providing Charles with a lifeline, something to hold onto as he was baring his all for the first time. He was tired of feeling empty, like the world was going to swallow him whole. He wanted to feel happy again, to feel like something other than standing on top of the podium meant something(that and Max, always Max). 

“I last ate two days ago” -it had been half a banana on the way to the first practice session of the weekend, he had really tried to eat the last of it too but the nausea had been too great. The lack of food made him feel ill rather than hungry as it should have. 

Silence filled the room, the confession hanging in every corner, making Charles feel small and vulnerable. This was it, the part where he found out about Max’s disgust and the end of his career. He was putting his whole life in Max's hands with the confession, the other now having the ability to end everything for him in just a single interview or tweet. 

He was trembling by the point Max moved, pulling him in even closer, moving them towards the bed where he carefully laid them both down, letting Charles rest against his chest. The trembles continuing even as they laid down and it did not take long before he was crying, big fat, tears rolling down his face. 

“Shh, dropje. It’s okay…” Max rubbed one hand down his back, trying his best to be comforting. “-Oh, Charles” he mumbled as a sob made its way out of Charles's throat. The rubbing hand made its way up to his hair instead, carefully scratching his scalp. Every little action was so careful and almost _loving_. At least that was that Charles’s sick brain wanted him to feel. 

“I’m s-sorry” Charles hiccuped, trying his best to just stop crying. His tears and snot staining Max’s oh so soft hoodie. He tried to say something else but all that came out was more sobs and incoherent nonsense. 

In the end, they both let the conversation stall until Charles eventually started to run out of tears, until he was finally breathing regularly again. Max held him through it all, whispering gently in Dutch. It took a while until Charles realized that he was singing, just the gentlest of tones. He could not make out a single word, but it was nice to have something to focus on rather than his own erratic heart and screaming mind. 

“I did not see what happened until after the race...” Max admitted, hands playing carefully with his hair, ignoring the strands that stuck between his fingers when he pulled them out. “-they told me to watch out for your car of course but nothing else”. His fingers stopped. 

“Charles, you have to-” he hesitated, as if finding the right words to say was hard for him too. Charles owed him to listen, no matter how painful it might be. “-you could have died. One corner later and you would have taken that one in full speed. Fuck, do you realize how scary that is, you asshole?” Max was angry now, and there was no blaming him for it. He had every right to be angry about it, had every right to be angry at _him_. 

“I’m sorry” the words felt insincere, like they were not enough to soothe the anger he could so clearly see in Max’s eyes. 

“You don’t understand, do you?” Max was practically growling at this point, fingers gripping his shoulder tightly, leaving bruises behind. Not because of the force but rather how fucking fragile everything about him was. “I can’t watch you die, not on my fucking watch” his grip becoming tighter, making Charles whimper at the force. Max noticed, because of course he did, and he suddenly turned gentle again, eyes filled with the sadness his anger was trying to hide. 

“You are everything” Max breathed, a small whisper of _Ik kan niet zonder jou, _against his temple. “I’d do anything to help you, but only if you want my help, _dropje_” Charles wondered if he actually meant everything, but he nodded carefully, eyes wide open in surprise. He knew the implications of the statement, knew that Max was promising him something they had never spoken of, something he had only allowed himself to dream about in his darkest moments. 

He reached up to cup Max’s face, never breaking their eye contact, moving his fingers along his cheekbone, along his nose and finally, over his closed lips. 

“I’d like that” he was still a bit hoarse from all the crying and the words came out a bit slurred. Yet he had never felt more confident about saying something in his entire life. 

Max’s lips moved to form the tiniest of smiles before moving in to cover Charles’s mouth with his. Their kiss bittersweet, their previous kisses having been hard, wet and dripping with lust. This one was both of them trying their hardest to say everything they either could not or did not know how to say. 

It was going to be rough, Charles knew that. Just because he was determined to get better right now did not know he would be tomorrow. Being with Max would be hard too, their teams could not know, especially considering half the marketing campaign of the season was based on their rivalry. Neither of them had any clue of _how _they would make this work, but they knew that no matter the hardship, it would be worth the pain. 

Next weekend Charles would be back in his Ferrari, having fought tooth and nail with his team to be allowed to drive (Seb putting in a word for him had certainly helped). He had spent 2 hours in the morning just to eat a single apple and a bowl of oatmeal. But no matter how long it took him or how much he cried, Max was there, having sneaked in just to accompany him. 

Things were far from fine, but as long as he could keep racing and could keep Max in his life chances were he might actually make it through, eventually. And who knew, maybe one day they would both have won the championship, and maybe, just maybe, Max kisses him on the podium as he wins the race that seals his title. But that’s for them to find out eventually.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in like 3 hours so I apologize for the writing style and all grammatical errors. It also happens to be my first F1 fanfiction so please be kind, or yell at me if you want to, but please do so kindly! 
> 
> Title is from Mighty Long Fall by ONE OK ROCK


End file.
